said the little Pilgrim; "some one who loves
you has sent me."

The woman lifted herself up a little and shook her head. "There is nobody
that loves me." Then she cast her eyes round her and began to tremble
again (for the touch of the little Pilgrim had stilled her). "Oh, where
am I?" she said. "They have taken me away; they have brought me to a
strange place; and you are new. Oh, where have they taken me?--where am
I?--where am I?" she cried. "Have they brought me here to die?"

Then the little Pilgrim bent over her and soothed her. "You must not be
so much afraid of dying; that is all over. You need not fear that any
more," she said softly; "for here where you now are we have all died."

The woman started up out of her arms, and then she gave a great shriek
that made the air ring, and cried out, "Dead! am I dead?" with a shudder
and convulsion, throwing herself again wildly with outstretched hands
upon the ground.

This was a great and terrible work for the little Pilgrim--the first she
had ever had to do--and her heart failed her for a moment; but afterward
she remembered our Brother who sent her, and knew what was best. She drew
closer to the new-comer, and took her hand again.

"Try," she said, in a soft voice, "and think a little. Do you feel now so
ill as you were? Do not be frightened, but think a little. I will hold
your hand. And look at me; you are not afraid of me?"

The poor creature shuddered again, and then she turned her face and
looked doubtfully, with great dark eyes dilated, and the brow and cheek
so curved and puckered round them that they seemed to glow out of deep
caverns. Her face was full of anguish and fear. But as she looked at the
little Pilgrim, her troubled gaze softened. Of her own accord she clasped
her other hand upon the one that held hers, and then she said with a
gasp,--

"I am not afraid of you; that was not true that you said! You are one of
the sisters, and you want to frighten me and make me repent!"

"You do repent," the Pilgrim said.

"Oh," cried the poor woman, "what has the like of you to do with me? Now
I look at you, I never saw any one that was like you before. Don't you
hate me?--don't you loathe me? I do myself. It's so ugly to go wrong. I
think now I would almost rather die and be done with it. You will say
that is because I am going to get better. I feel a great deal better now.
Do you think I am going to get over it? Oh, I am better! I could get up
out of bed